Rage, Rage Against the Dying of the Light
by AriaAdagio
Summary: Sequel to Do Not Go Gentle. After the fateful events of Do Not Go Gentle, Nick assumes that LaCroix is insincere in his apologies. While LAcroix contemplates his relationship with Nick, Nick also comes to some realizations of his own. Angst ensues.


RAGE, RAGE AGAINST THE DYING OF THE LIGHT  
  
Standard disclaimers apply. Nick, LaCroix, Janette, and   
Natalie aren't mine, I've just taken them for a brief spin.   
Any similarities to real life happenings or other fanfiction   
stories are entirely coincidental/unintentional. Permission   
is granted to archive at fkfanfic.com and the ftp site, all   
others please ask so I can keep track of it. For those of   
you who are interested, my other stories are all available   
at http://filebox.vt.edu/users/diharris/Homepage.htm  
  
This is a sequel to a story I sent out awhile ago in March,   
called Do Not Go Gentle. If you haven't read that story,   
you're going to be royally confused. Needless to say, DNGG   
was kinda graphic so if you just want a summary: LaCroix   
brutalizes Nick and realizes he regrets it. Angst ensues.   
This story is a major CoTK piece, although Natalie and   
Janette both get their parts in it, and there are reasonable   
NNPacker undertones. Anyway, I got lots of feedback on Do   
Not Go Gentle, and I think I've addressed a lot of the stuff   
you've brought up :) Sorry this took so long to finish, but   
I've been suffering from about six billion different cases   
of severe writer's block, not to mention I found this story   
very hard to write even when I WAS inspired :)   
  
Rage deals with some disturbing subject matter and there are   
some violent parts in it, and although I do not consider   
this to be adult content, be warned. I've really tried to   
delve into the issues that make the entire LaCroix-Nick   
relationship work (and not work), while at the same time   
trying to keep every character in form. Also, I've heard   
some complaints lately that many fanfics tend to have Nick   
cry a lot, and I discovered after going back to read my   
stuff that I was a vicious perpetrator of the crime (guilty   
as charged, what can I say). Hopefully, I've fixed that up   
somewhat!  
  
Any and all comments can be sent to aria5@vt.edu. I   
thrive on positive and/or constructive feedback and I just   
recently lost all the backups to my mail files, so I need   
some new stuff to go back and read from time to time, you   
know, to keep my inspiration going!   
  
Oh yeah, and I'd like to extend a huge thank you to my beta   
reader, Lois Frankel, and to Marg Yamanaka for her extensive   
knowledge on the Toronto area :)  
  
Goodness, I'm long winded. Okay. I'm done :)  
  
  
RAGE, RAGE AGAINST THE DYING OF THE LIGHT  
  
THE PRESENT  
  
Beg me, Nicholas. Beg me to stop...  
  
The voice echoing through his head like a soft roll of   
thunder made him snap awake in fear, panting heavily. No!   
Just barely, and only by clenching his jaws shut with such   
force that his lips began to bleed where his teeth bit down   
on them, he was able to stop himself from crying out aloud.   
He began to tremble furiously as he realized there was an   
arm wrapped around his abdomen, restraining him from behind.   
  
He stilled in terror, but shivery tremors still coursed up   
and down his body. An arm... Clasped around his abdomen   
possessively. Holding him... Trapping him... It was like   
thick metal chains bound him to the bed, he couldn't move.   
With his eyes wide in inexplicable fear, he fought the urge   
to flee. If he moved, it might wake up... And for some   
reason he concluded that that would be a bad thing.  
  
Staring straight ahead as he lay there on his side with his   
head resting gently on his hand, he was afraid to move a   
muscle, even to wipe the bloody sweat forming on his brow   
and dripping slowly down onto his black satin sheets where   
they left small darker blotches of stain. God... He   
inhaled deeply, but panic still crushed him like a three ton   
weight on his shoulders.   
  
The arm moved and all at once he tensed even more, if that   
were even possible, his muscles shaking in protest from the   
sudden and extreme stress placed upon them. "Nicholas...   
What's the matter?" a voice whispered from behind him   
softly, the soft warm breath wafting over the nape of Nick's   
exposed neck.   
  
He knew that voice. Beg me, Nicholas. Beg me to stop...   
It was _that_ voice. I can possess you totally The voice   
that had hurt him. I OWN you! Hurt... Get away! No!   
If I move, he might... Letting a small, muffled whimper   
escape from his lips, he remained still. Unmoving.   
  
"Nicholas?" Another arm and hand snaked around him from   
behind, this time over the top of his shoulder. It brushed   
the blond tufts of hair draping over his forehead, the   
underlayers of which were already pastily matted to the skin   
with sweat. I can possess you totally His eyes widened,   
and he tried so very hard not to flinch. But he did.   
Slamming his eyes shut tightly, he waited for retribution.  
  
It never came. The hand at his face was gone at once. He   
wanted to tell LaCroix to move his other hand, but nothing   
would come out. Get away from me! His mind was screaming,   
but it was as if his voice had been ripped away, stolen out   
of his precious possession.   
  
"Nicholas, you're trembling. I can feel your fear. Tell   
me, what is the matter?" the voice demanded a little bit   
more insistently. Just leave me alone! Get away! He   
opened his mouth again, but his vocal chords simply refused   
to work. He was frozen in place with the exception of his   
shivering muscles.   
  
Finally, a blessing from above, the hand that was snaked   
around his midsection unclasped itself. "Nicholas, I..."   
He didn't listen to the rest of the speech coming from   
behind him. He was free. And as if his weakly trembling   
body had a mind of its own, he found himself bolting   
downstairs towards his familiar haven.   
  
Within seconds he was at the fridge, downing a glass of   
bovine blood. And another. Another... The bitter taste   
disgusted him even more than usual, and he curled his lips   
in a nauseated grimace as his stomach heaved and churned in   
bitter protest. Even worse than the taste, it wasn't   
satisfying him at all, and he found himself growling in   
frustration as his eyes slipped to a glittering amber   
color.   
  
"Nicholas, that pathetic swill won't help you..." LaCroix   
appeared in front of him, and the fear he'd felt of his sire   
earlier returned tenfold. Feeling his knees give out, he   
barely had enough time to set the expensive glass that   
contained the awful bovine on the countertop before he found   
himself falling dangerously fast towards the floor.   
  
His master caught him with vampiric speed in his strong   
arms, holding him mere inches above the wooden surface of   
the floor as he struggled to regain his footing again. But   
he couldn't. I OWN you! He yelped and thrashed about in   
wild panic. Don't hurt me! Don't hurt me!   
Don'thurtmedon't...  
  
LaCroix picked him up and carried him over to the nearby,   
black leather sofa. "Nicholas, stop thrashing about!"   
LaCroix said, slightly annoyed as he placed Nick onto the   
sofa as gently as he could without getting kicked.   
  
Nick stilled instantly, and LaCroix obviously saw this as   
an invitation. His breath froze in his chest and he felt   
his fear bubbling under the surface, deep within his core   
as LaCroix's finger brushed his cheek... grasped his   
shoulder... Oh God... Nick closed his eyes as he began to   
tremble again.   
  
Finally, he could stand it no longer. "Don't touch me!" he   
snapped at his sire, the pent up anger and terror tightly   
gripping his words in a chokehold. Yet he instantly   
regretted speaking. He didn't want LaCroix to seek   
retribution... Not again... Please, please don't be angry.  
  
LaCroix, with a pained look of pure shock, withdrew his   
hand. Nick didn't have time to care about his master's   
startling reaction as the hunger welled up inside him again.   
He snarled and clutched at his abdomen as the agony ripped   
through his gut. "Why..." he gasped as he fell off the sofa   
and onto the floor.  
  
LaCroix wordlessly caught his shoulders and forced his own   
pale wrist in front of Nick's mouth. "Drink!" he commanded   
softly, but Nick felt the power behind it. The hidden   
warning.   
  
But he couldn't. He turned his head away... "I can't.   
I..." he muttered frantically, trying to pry himself out of   
LaCroix's vice-like grip. He had to get away... Maybe if   
he could make a dash for the liftmmmmmmph! He growled   
beastially in protest as LaCroix yanked his head back.   
  
"Nicholas, you have to, unless you wish to starve. The   
bovine swill you keep won't satisfy you," LaCroix said, his   
voice almost... regretful. "Not anymore..." he added   
softly, his eyes closing into tiny slits of pain.   
  
Nick felt revulsion forming in the pit of his chest, his   
stomach churning as he stared at the wrist in front of him.   
This man... This _vampire_ who had violated him to no end   
expected him to perform such an intimate gesture... No!   
Nick shook his head and heaved himself backwards, LaCroix   
careening to the floor for lack of balance as Nick's   
shoulders teetered about like a punching bag. "Get off of   
me!" he cried and bolted forward. Towards the lift...   
Freedom...  
  
He was stopped short in his bid for freedom when he was   
suddenly tumbling towards the floor, a loud crack   
resounding through the air as LaCroix backhanded him and   
sent him flying backwards. "Don't you run away from me,   
boy!" LaCroix cried, a sudden hard edge to his voice, but   
he immediately softened. "I'm... I'm sorry... I didn't   
mean..." he stuttered as he realized what he had just done.   
  
Oblivious to LaCroix's frantic apologies, Nick floundered on   
the floor, trying to regain his equilibrium from the blow.   
He took in a shocked breath as he clawed at the wooden   
floorboards like a landed fish. He had to get away from   
LaCroix...   
  
"Very well, Nicholas. I think you've learned your lesson,   
at least for the time being," LaCroix said as he got up off   
the floor. I'm sorry, Nat. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.   
Nick shook his head from side to side as he shakily reached   
out with his good hand and pulled himself across the floor,   
slowly. Towards the lift. Away from LaCroix. Got to get   
away...  
  
Nick screamed as a spear of white lighting pierced his head.   
The memories came slowly at first. A picture... A smell...   
A sound... A hurt... And then they were bombarding him   
and he collapsed flat on the floor. He didn't even try to   
escape the rush of pain. It was futile.  
  
THE PREVIOUS NIGHT  
  
Nick swallowed dryly as he began to rock himself back and   
forth, his eyes squeezed shut against the soft, unobtrusive   
light of the loft. Against the pain... OhGodOhGodOhGod...   
Was this what dying felt like? Yes, he deliriously decided.   
It was. Almost as if he were incinerating from the inside   
out, he felt his veins burning as LaCroix's blood rocketed   
through them, healing him and making him feel like Hell at   
the same time.  
  
For the first time in several centuries, his master's blood   
was coursing through him. Making him feel like dying from   
the pleasure at the same time as making him feel like he   
wanted to wretch all over the floor until there was no   
tomorrow. He felt his innards coiling in nausea as his body   
began to strengthen and heal. God, it was too much. The   
power...  
  
His jaw muscles clenched. Biting back a moan as his stomach   
flip-flopped around in his belly, he looked up. LaCroix was   
at the door of the lift, looking about ready to depart   
despite his obvious weakened state and all at once Nick   
found him mind protesting. No! He couldn't leave! Not   
now!  
  
He blinked. What the Hell was his mind talking about? Let  
LaCroix leave, walk into the sun and burn into soot for all   
he cared. The bloody bastard deserves it, damn it! No he   
doesn't... Yes he does!  
  
His stomach heaved and Nick was forced to place a hand down   
to the floor to help support himself. Fear flooded through   
him as he nearly lost what precious little balance he had.   
Leaving. LaCroix was leaving and it scared him. He   
couldn't deal with this alone, he couldn't... Yes you can,   
you're fine. You'll be fine. Shut up, Shut Up, SHUT UP!   
You don't know anything! Don't leave me, LaCroix.  
  
LaCroix turned and after a long hesitation, his lips parted,   
his eyes wide in silent shock. "I won't, Nicholas," he   
whispered softly.  
  
Nick gasped. Damn, had he said that last part aloud? He   
hadn't meant OHGOD... The nausea was coming in rolls now.   
Terrible, agonizing waves of sickening vertigo gripped at   
his sides, his head, his chest, his very being. Don't leave   
me...   
  
AAAAUGH! God, I can't... I don't... He struggled to   
remain upright as his thoughts raced away with his mind and   
into the great beyond. I need...   
  
"Here, let me help you," LaCroix said softly, his voice rich   
and powerful despite the lack of volume.   
  
Nick looked up to see a blurry form that could only be his   
sire crouch down next to him on the cold wooden floor,   
letting out a small yelp as two strong arms encompassed him   
tightly. And suddenly, he was in the air, being carried up   
the stairs like an infant... "Don't worry, Nicholas, it   
will be all right once the blood fever settles..."  
  
And something, perhaps it was his overwhelming fear, allowed   
him to take comfort in that embrace. The very same one that   
had hurt him so badly before.  
  
That was the last thing he could remember.  
  
THE PRESENT  
  
He screamed long and loud as the pain riddled his gut. "You   
bastard! Why did you do this to me?!" Nick cried painfully   
as he writhed on the floor underneath LaCroix's powerful,   
unrelenting grip.   
  
"Nicholas," LaCroix began calmly, obviously trying to   
diffuse the situation, "You would not have healed properly   
if I had not fed you. Your own dietary habits have caused   
this!"  
  
Nick winced and bit his tongue so hard that blood began to   
trickle out of the side of his mouth. He would not scream   
again. He wouldn't... LaCroix didn't need to see ANOTHER   
one of his pathetic weaknesses... "You knew this would   
happen, damn you! You knew it wouldn't be a onetime thing,   
you knew I'd have to drink from you again," Nick accused his   
sire angrily as he swallowed each and every heaving breath   
he could muster, his eyes glowing crimson with the vampire.  
  
LaCroix was getting annoyed now, Nick could see it, but for   
some reason he didn't care. "YOU KNEW, DAMN YOU!" he yelled   
as he slapped LaCroix's hands away from him and wobbled to   
his feet. "I SAID, don't touch me!" He had to get out of   
here...  
  
"Nicholas, I did what I thought was necessary..." LaCroix   
said as he obviously restrained himself from helping Nick   
up, but Nick cut him off.   
  
"This was all one of your schemes to get me back into the   
fold! You healed me and as a price I'm a slave to you. I   
can't believe I ever trusted you!" Nick cried, incensed   
beyond reason. The world was spinning in a red haze of   
dizziness as he placed a hand on the wall for support. God,   
he had to get out of here...   
  
"Nicholas, this is only temporary, and you're the one who   
told me to stay, I thought..."   
  
There was something in LaCroix's voice that Nick recognized   
even through his own distress. Pain. No one else could've   
ever recognized it for what it was, it was hidden pretty   
well. His master was... in pain. Nick almost felt some   
regret before his raging id slammed into his brain and   
repossessed him. WELL GOOD! "It was a mistake, I can   
assure you..." Nick said menacingly through clenched teeth   
as he fumbled towards the lift.   
  
He'd stay away from LaCroix and basically all of humanity   
until this blew over. But when? When would this blow over?   
LaCroix's powerful blood had reawakened a very strong desire   
to consume human blood again. He'd already tried bovine, it   
hadn't sated him whatsoever.   
  
And he was hungry.   
  
Very hungry.  
  
With nothing but the bloodlust in his thoughts, he flung   
the door to the lift open with a throaty growl. God, he   
could already feel his body slipping through the clenched   
fingers of his consciousness into the comfortable and   
familiar guise of a crazed predator. No! Damn LaCroix for   
this! He had to get away before all conscious thought   
ceased and he was prey to his own beast. He didn't know   
where he would go, but he would have to go somewhere far,   
far away...   
  
But it was too late. He was lost to his hunger before the   
real battle could even begin.  
  
"Nick! What's going... What the HELL are YOU doing here?!"   
A petite brunette rose from the floor of the lift, where she   
had obviously been examining the large bloodstain in the   
corner from the previous night. "Nick?"  
  
Nick cocked his head slightly in response. She sounded so   
familiar, and yet... The noise that had emanated from her   
mouth was quiet, rich, very feminine, but his concentration   
waned considerably as the thumping rhythm of her heart   
blind sided him and forced all other thoughts to the back of   
his conscience. Blinking as the tiny figure approached him,   
he instinctively growled deep and low. Her big, light-blue   
eyes wandered nervously back from his sire to him as he   
bared his fangs at her in a menacing leer. She gasped,   
stopping short of him, and he could only find himself   
grinning more.  
  
Blood was always best when the victim was scared.  
  
*****  
  
Natalie slowly stepped into the lift. She'd thought of   
Nick all through her shift the previous night, hoping that   
he'd at least have one case that required him to come into   
the lab for results on a body. She had felt a strong sense   
of dread ever since he'd insisted upon going to work.   
  
And later... when she'd heard from Tracy that he'd freaked   
out in the middle of an investigation and fled the scene,   
she'd been even more worried. Tired... He was tired, she   
had tried to rationalize. It was probably too much to   
handle so soon after such grievous injuries. Yes, that was   
it, too much to handle.   
  
Yet she had found herself pacing through her shift, itching   
to leave and check on her friend. Somewhat more than   
friend. Significant other! Yeah, you wish... She snorted.   
Well whatever he was to her, she couldn't help but worry.   
Her heart was his even if he didn't know it.  
  
She'd then rationalized that she could wait. He would call   
her if something was really wrong. She could wait until the   
next evening to look in on him. After all, he'd been pretty   
annoyed with her continual mothering recently. Okay, very   
annoyed. Mad even. That is, until he had virtually   
collapsed in her arms... But that was beside the point. No   
it's not! He needs you to check on him... No he doesn't!   
  
Finally giving in with a silent scream of frustration, she'd   
waited. She'd suffered a terrible bout of insomnia, counted   
up to at least 2452 sheep before she'd given up on that   
avenue and moved to studying the intricacies of the chipped   
paint on her ceiling, but she'd waited. And she was damn   
proud at herself for maintaining the willpower to do so.   
  
But as her eyes slowly moved to the stained rusty-red puddle   
in the corner of the lift, she began to doubt the wisdom of   
that move. She bent down, dreading a closer look but   
braving one anyway. Touching an index finger into the red   
mess and drawing it closer towards her for examination, the   
dread in her mind turned into a palpable, gut-wrenching   
fear.   
  
It was blood.  
  
Blood that hadn't been there before, when she'd... When   
she'd arrived at the loft and found Nick practically dead on   
the floor in a lake of his own blood. Nat closed her eyes   
as a strange queasy feeling overwhelmed her. Please don't   
let it be Nick's...  
  
And suddenly, a growl ripped through the air, viciously   
tearing from her from her thoughts. Her head snapped around   
of its own accord and she was greeted with Nick's vampire  
face. Nick's very _hungry_ looking vampire face, but she   
was too dazed by the suddenness of the encounter to even   
begin worrying about it...   
  
"Nick! What's going..." she heard herself beginning to   
speak as her eyes involuntarily slipped to the space   
directly behind Nick. A space occupied by the individual she   
least wanted to see in the world, and least of all within a   
mile of Nick...   
  
"What the HELL are YOU doing here?!" she screamed at LaCroix   
as she rose to her feet, barely able to contain her sudden   
fury at the elder vampire's presence, but LaCroix was barely   
even paying attention to her. His worried eyes were focused   
entirely on Nick.   
  
Nick... "Nick?" she queried, but it was immediately obvious   
that he didn't understand a word she was saying. He cocked   
his head to the side as if contemplating what to do about   
this newest curiosity, and, as if suddenly coming to a   
decision, he growled deep and low in his throat.   
  
The fear that had been for Nick earlier was slowly beginning   
to morph into fear _of_ Nick as she warily glanced back and   
forth between Nick and his sire. She felt the breath catch   
in her throat as Nick began to smile at her like she was the   
most delectable thing in the world. Don't scream. Whatever   
you do, don't scream. She thought frantically of all the   
things Nick had told her about the hunger, the main thing of   
which was that he'd remembered reveling in his victim's   
fear. Fear made it worse...  
  
Natalie swallowed harshly. Funny how when you thought about   
something NOT to do, it was the first thing that you were   
most likely to obsess about. Hopefully Nick wasn't lucid   
enough to notice that her hands were shaking enough to cause   
a small earthquake.   
  
He growled again, and she couldn't stop herself from taking   
a small step backwards into the lift. Please Nick.   
Recognize me! "Snap out of it, Nick!" she cried in a plea   
she knew would fall upon deaf ears. She'd never seen him   
like this. There'd been a few times when he'd been very   
hungry, but never so completely lost to the bloodlust as he   
obviously was this time. It was a very fine edge that he   
walked on, one that she'd never seen him unsuccessfully   
straddle.   
  
Until now.  
  
His eyes peered at her, narrowing slightly at her obvious   
panic, and yet they were sightless. The red, angry pools of   
inhumanity that stared at her didn't care that she was   
afraid, didn't care that her life was something that   
couldn't be rekindled after it was extinguished, didn't care   
at all except that they were staring at a good, fast meal...   
So cold...   
  
It amazed her how easily she forgot that Nick was _not_ for   
all intents and purposes, human, despite his constant   
warnings and reminders. She found herself unable to do   
anything except stare back at him like a deer caught in the   
headlights, silently resigning herself to her fate. Her   
death...  
  
And as he lunged towards her with all the power and muscle   
of a savage beast, she barely flinched. But he never   
reached her. His body snapped backwards painfully like a   
ball at the end of its tether. LaCroix, it seemed, had   
finally intervened.  
  
"ENOUGH!" LaCroix cried angrily as he harshly grabbed Nick   
and dragged him away from Nat towards Nick's large black   
leather couch. "Nicholas, as much as I'd enjoy seeing you   
snack on our dear Doctor Lambert, I'd much rather you do it   
of your own accord..." he explained to the writhing mass   
desperately trying to escape his grip.  
  
Nat sighed in infinite relief, but the fury rushed back as   
she watched Nick struggling pathetically in LaCroix's arms.   
"Excuse me," she began coldly, "but would you mind telling   
me what the HELL is going on?" The fury inside her was   
about to boil over the top, exploding into a big scalding   
mess. She closed her eyes briefly. One... Two...   
Three... Four...  
  
"Dr. Lambert, as much as I'd love to discuss this with you,"   
LaCroix snapped as his eyes slipped to an amber hue and his   
fangs descended, pausing only to bite into the pale flesh of   
his wrist, "I'd suggest you leave now if you know what's   
good for you."  
  
Nat narrowed her eyes in disbelief. She could not...   
WOULD NOT trust him. Not with Nick. Not after what he'd   
done. And she couldn't believe that LaCroix obviously   
expected her to. "No way. I'm not leaving," she insisted   
stubbornly, folding her arms across her chest, but wisely   
not daring to move any closer towards the pair.  
  
LaCroix spared her a brief, annoyed glance. "Fine, but next   
time he tries to eat you for lunch, I'm not going to stop   
him, I'm still trying to convince myself not to loose him on   
you now," he whispered with a sick grin, the sarcasm   
dripping from his voice like thick maple syrup. Without   
further comment, LaCroix put his wrist to Nick's wildly   
gnashing canines, and at once Nick's struggling all but   
ceased as he began to...   
  
Nat gasped.  
  
As he began to drink... She felt the revulsion burble up   
from her stomach and into her throat, fighting her gag   
reflex as she watched the man she loved unconditionally   
drink the blood of a man she hated relentlessly. Of a man   
_HE_ hated relentlessly. Of a man who had brutalized him,   
raped him, and driven him to unspeakable emotional   
instability.   
  
Her lips curled back in a grimace. It was sick, that's what   
it was. Disgusting.   
  
And it was too much for her to bear.  
  
Leaping to action, she ran to the small shelf where Nick   
kept it displayed and grabbed Joan of Arc's cross with utter   
fury. She rushed at the pair, waving it wildly in their   
faces. LaCroix hissed in surprise and stepped backwards as   
Nick slipped dazedly to the ground, no longer supported by   
his master's firm embrace.  
  
"Get away from him!" Nat screamed, slowly backing LaCroix   
up towards the wall with the old wooden cross. DAMN YOU!   
She saw Nick lying on the ground, bloodied, unclothed,   
helpless, writhing around on the ground spasmodically under   
the throes of an invisible memory. DAMN YOU! She saw Nick   
curled up in agony on the sofa, red tear tracks racing down   
his cheeks when he thought she wasn't watching. DAMN YOU!   
  
Her grip on the cross tightened, her knuckles turning white   
as she clenched the holy object in her fingers. BASTARD!   
The anger erupting out of her was overwhelming as she forced   
LaCroix backwards, corralling him like some sort of prized   
cattle put up for slaughter. DAMN YOU!!! Damn you for   
Nick, and definitely for myself!   
  
Finally, there was a loud thump as LaCroix's back connected   
harshly with the pale back wall of the loft. She shoved the   
cross in his face until it was scarcely three inches away   
from the bridge of his nose.   
  
"He NEEDED it!" LaCroix whispered, his eyes averted towards   
the floor and away from the cross.  
  
Natalie's eyes narrowed. "Like Hell he did, what the Hell   
did you do to him?!" she snapped, suddenly not caring that   
the creature before her had at least two thousand years on   
her. Not caring that he was a ruthless Roman general who   
had no qualms about killing mortals whatsoever. Not caring   
that he was the source of Nick's torment. He wouldn't kill   
her, she knew that now. He'd had ample opportunity and he   
hadn't taken it.  
  
LaCroix took a deep breath. "He was injured..." he began.  
  
"Yeah, by you, you uncaring bastard!" Nat interrupted   
angrily.  
  
He winced at her tone but continued. "He needed my blood   
to heal, the blood of the master always heals. He was ill,   
and he would've been for quite some time without my   
intervention. So I gave him my blood when he came home   
yesterday," he explained calmly, but Nat could detect   
something in his voice. Something well hidden... Pain?   
Regret? No. It couldn't be. She shrugged it off.  
  
"Well then how do you explain what just happened? I thought   
you said Nick was supposed to heal..." Nat said in   
disbelief. Of all the pathetic excuses she'd heard in her   
short lifetime, this one took the cake!  
  
LaCroix grunted softly as Nat pushed the cross imperceptibly   
closer. His flesh started to smoke slightly, but his face   
was still an emotional mask. "He did. But..."   
  
"But?" she prodded. She wanted the whole story, and she   
wanted it now. Before she killed him.  
  
"His system had gotten so used to that damn bovine swill   
that my blood frenzied him. It will wear off, he just needs   
to readjust," LaCroix assured her.  
  
"Well he can readjust fine," she snapped back. Nick would   
be able to readjust. No problem. They'd work it out just   
like they always did when their progress took a giant leap   
backward. She continued to rationalize silently, but the   
feeling that this wasn't just a simple leap backwards in   
their progress towards a cure just wouldn't leave her alone.   
  
And all at once the anger flared again, if what she'd been   
feeling before could be considered calm. "And he can do it   
without you. Now get out before I run the unbeating chunk   
of ice you call a heart through with this lovely gift of   
Joan's," she said coldly, withdrawing the cross far enough   
to allow the two thousand year old vampire to leave before   
she completely lost it.  
  
With the cross out of his face, LaCroix looked at her   
coldly. "I don't take kindly to threats!" he growled at   
her, bearing his fangs cruelly for her to see, "Especially   
from you..." But the smirk on his face that was obviously   
meant to intimidate her only incensed her further.  
  
"Bastard!" she cried, and before she realized what she   
was doing, she backhanded him across the face, the wooden   
cross scraping across his cheek, leaving small splinters in   
the previously flawless flesh. "That was for Nick, you   
sonofabitch!"   
  
The long end of the cross chipped off from all the abuse it   
had taken and fell to the floor with a thud, but she barely   
took note of it as she kneed him hard in the groin,   
collapsing him mercilessly to the floor. "That was for ME!"   
she screamed as something in-between a whimper and a groan   
emanated from his pale lips.  
  
She raised the cross, noting triumphantly that the shards   
and splinters that had come off the tips made it as deadly   
as a genuine stake. LaCroix curled up on the floor,   
strangely not protesting her actions. "And this is for   
everyone else's lives that you've screwed up!"   
  
And she plunged the make-shift stake home.  
  
*****   
  
LaCroix stood against the wall, silently seething that he'd   
let this tiny woman muscle him into the wall. Yeah, that's   
right, Lucien. You _LET_ her back you into this corner.   
You wanted the pain! No I didn't, you're crazy... Damn!   
He shrugged away his inner turmoil and brought himself back   
to the situation at hand. For one moment, he'd let his   
guard down, trusting that confounded woman to let him do   
what was best for his child, and here she was...  
  
"Bastard!"   
  
Here she was swearing at him after he'd actually taken the   
time to explain that which did _not_ need explaining as far   
as he was concerned. She was supposed to be doctor to the   
undead, let her figure out the significance of sharing   
blood. The little witch! Who did she think she was, what   
on Earth had ever possessed poor Nicholas to become so   
attracted to...   
  
Pain ripped across his cheek as wooden shards of the cross   
that she was holding embedded themselves in his flesh.   
OUCH! Good, you bastard, that's what you wanted wasn't it?   
Pain? Well now you're getting it! Just let it tear you   
apart, you NEED it! SHUT UP! He grimaced, placing a cool   
hand to his injured cheek, only eliciting more pain. She...   
The wench! She had _HIT_ him! How dare she!  
  
"That was for Nick, you sonofabitch!" her shrill cry lanced   
through his head like a spear, and he took a deep, gut-  
wrenching breath. He'd said he was sorry, damn it all! He   
didn't need this! Yes you do! You NEED the pain. Let it   
take you!  
  
He shook his head, slightly aghast that he found himself   
agreeing with her words. He deserved this for what he'd   
done. And somewhere during this verbal onslaught, he'd   
begun to realize that he wanted to pay for his   
transgression. He _wanted_ to be hit, as masochistic as it   
seemed. Every drop of pain he experienced was supposed to   
take away some of the guilt that was still festering in his   
gut. Hadn't he warned Nicholas about this? Hypocrite...   
  
Fighting back a small chuckle before it inappropriately   
erupted, he closed his eyes and waited for the next blow to   
arrive. An eye for an eye, so they say... His legs   
collapsed out from underneath him as she kicked him. "That   
was for ME!" An eye for an eye, an eye for an eye, an eye   
for an eye. He repeated the phrase in his mind like a   
mantra as he resigned himself to the pain, instinctively   
curling up into a tiny ball.  
  
Please... Save me. Take my guilt away. Please...   
  
"And this is for everyone else's lives that you've screwed   
up!"   
  
Yes, do it. End it. I don't want this guilt anymore.  
  
Do it!   
  
"Don't."   
  
LaCroix's world froze when he heard it, soft, cold,   
uncaring. He cautiously opened one eye a slit, only to   
find the cross mere inches from his heart, held at bay by   
Nicholas's hand clenched around the good doctor's wrist.   
  
"Don't, Nat. Don't kill him..."   
  
Nicholas had saved him. It was almost laughable really,   
considering that Nicholas was probably one of the last   
people on this Earth who would've ever chosen to save his   
life. He was undeserving, but LaCroix couldn't help but   
ponder it.   
  
Nicholas had saved him. Because? Why in the world would   
he want to save you? It hit him like ton of bricks.   
Because he wants to add to his own pain... Just like you   
were doing to yourself not seconds before this...  
  
LaCroix sighed, not really in relief, more in catharsis as   
his pent up emotions churned up inside him and expelled   
themselves invisibly into the air. God, he finally   
understood now why they were such a pair, Nicholas and he.   
Ha! An epiphany under pressure...   
  
Nicholas was bent on self-destruction. Constantly   
throwing himself in pain's way, casting it off as atonement.   
LaCroix finally found himself understanding it. Nick wanted   
pain, and LaCroix wanted to be the aggressor. The   
dominating factor. He'd had thousands under his command   
when he was mortal, and now as a vampire, he had but one.   
And oh, how the mighty had fallen.  
  
True, intimidation led other vampires to be wary of him, but   
he had only one true servant. A man who had once claimed   
himself to be a servant of God, but in a moment of weakness   
and disillusionment renounced Him in favor of eternal life.   
Disillusionment which led to disillusionment which led to   
pain, and suffering. Nicholas.   
  
His son could no longer claim to be in the light of God, but   
he professed to make his way back into it by spending   
centuries being beaten by a Roman general bent on sadism and   
domination for his kicks under the guise of atonement. A   
love that was truly sprung from hate.   
  
One could claim that it was a pretty twisted relationship.  
  
"Why the Hell not?! The bastard deserves it for what he's   
done, God Nick, how can you possibly..."  
  
"Just don't, Nat. Leave it..."   
  
And they wouldn't be wrong...   
  
LaCroix sighed again, closing the eye through which he   
peered. But there was more to it than that, there had to   
be. No there isn't, you sick bastard. You kept him with   
you all these years because you want to beat something, and   
he wants to be beaten. God, you're sick. When did you   
ever get to be this sick?  
  
"But why..."  
  
No. I won't allow it. There _HAS_ to be another reason.   
And yet, despite how hard he was reaching, he couldn't touch   
upon another answer. Lucien, you're the most twisted, evil,   
wretched thing to ever walk this Earth.  
  
"Because I SAID so!"  
  
He felt Nicholas's hand grab onto his shoulder, pulling   
him forcefully to his feet. And somehow, LaCroix found   
the strength to open his eyes and face his child, despite   
all of what he'd just uncovered for himself, what it had   
taken _eight-hundred-years_... for him to figure out.   
Nicholas was staring coldly at him, his ice-blue eyes   
penetrating and yet strangely expressionless.   
  
The damn doctor was standing slightly behind and to the   
left, but he spared her no more than a glance before he   
returned to his son. "Nicholas, I..." LaCroix whispered,   
his voice ragged and weak. The emotional battle was finally   
over, and it had left his body shriveling in its wake.   
  
"Get out," Nicholas snapped harshly, his uncaring eyes   
never faltering, never blinking.   
  
And despite all those discoveries, LaCroix found himself   
protesting. "But I..." You cretin! Why are you   
protesting? Get out while you still can. Mend your sick   
emotional state and get on with your sick undeserving   
life... Go out on the street, get yourself shot a couple   
times and then drag yourself in front of an oncoming bus.   
It won't kill you, but the pain might be nice. You deserve   
it, after all. Arrogant, sick, bastard...  
  
Sick!  
  
"LaCroix, I don't want you here. Get. Out," Nicholas   
enunciated firmly, his voice becoming strangely detached as   
LaCroix watched him, almost as if he were purposefully   
distancing himself from the situation.   
  
And it struck him like a stake in the heart. So that was   
that. Get out. It was quite funny, really. Laughable   
even. He smiled, but the smile turned into a snort, and   
finally gales of maniacal laughter.  
  
"What the Hell are you laughing at, you sick bastard! Are   
you out of your goddamned mind? I said get out!" Nicholas   
yelled at him, incensed and looking quite disgusted with   
him. LaCroix couldn't help but notice that Nicholas's hands   
were clenching even tighter on his shoulders, so tight that   
he wouldn't be surprised if they were drawing blood where   
his fingernails indented into his skin.   
  
"Nicholas, do you have _any_ idea what has just happened   
here tonight?" LaCroix found himself asking curiously,   
although he didn't know why. It was obvious Nicholas had   
never really seriously thought about this, or he had and had   
just not been enlightened with the truth. And yet, he had   
to know what his son felt about this. For some, strange,   
inexplicable reason, he had to know.  
  
Nicholas looked at him, confused, his eyes almost   
imperceptibly narrowing. "What are you talking about?" he   
snapped viciously, as if his sire had suddenly grown two   
heads and was wearing nothing but a pink tutu to boot.  
  
LaCroix smiled, an insanely thick smile that stretched his   
lips until they were plastered across his face. "Good-bye,   
Nicholas," he said smoothly, much more calmly than he felt.   
  
As he took a step towards the exit, he felt ill, his   
stomach began to churn like a washing-machine on spin cycle.   
Another step. The smile left his face, but Nicholas and his   
silly mortal pet were behind him now. They couldn't see it.   
His son couldn't see how much this was hurting. Another   
step.  
  
Good-bye. God, it hurts. Well you got what you wanted,   
Lucien. Pain. He'd said it. And it sickened him, because   
he was sure that this time, it really meant good-bye. Not   
see you later, or some other derivative. Good-bye.  
  
The feeling of his heart shattering in his chest was truly   
a strange one, but Nicholas couldn't see him. Couldn't see   
the tears as they began to trek down his cheek, leaking out   
of his tear ducts in a slow viscous ooze. It was obvious to   
him now that Nicholas truly couldn't see...  
  
*****  
  
"Good-bye, Nicholas..."  
  
Nick watched his sire step into the lift. All at once he   
wanted to scream out. WAIT! Please, I don't want you to   
go, I lied... But he couldn't. Something had changed   
tonight. Something big and when he tried to figure out   
exactly what it was, he couldn't. Something... He felt it   
there, floating in the black abyss just out of the reach of   
his outstretched fingers. Grunting lowly, he could feel the   
feather touch of enlightenment brushing him gently, but then   
it was gone. He was grasping at nothing.   
  
With a heaving sigh, he collapsed to the floor, letting   
himself truly feel for the first time since he'd been   
dropped by LaCroix. It was the only complete emotional   
detachment that had allowed him to live through that   
encounter. That had allowed him to kick his sire out   
despite the hurt he could see deep within his eyes. At   
least LaCroix hadn't put up much of a protest...   
  
"Nat, I'm sorry I... That I..." He squeezed his eyes shut.   
He couldn't even say it. Never before had he been so   
completely out of control, like he was spiraling down into a   
pit of insanity. And he'd almost...  
  
"Shhh, Nick. It's all right. I... I know you were   
hungry," Nat began softly, sitting down beside him on the   
cold floor, clasping his shoulders in her soft grip. It   
felt so good, and yet...   
  
"Nat, I still _am_ hungry. I've never felt so hungry in my   
life..." It was true. It was there. Gnawing at him,   
slowly chewing his insides, ripping his gut apart in a   
painstakingly slow tear. But he could deal with it for now.   
At least LaCroix's second donation had given him back some   
of the control that he'd lost with the first.  
  
Nat smiled and soothingly rubbed his shoulder. "Don't   
worry, Nick. We'll figure it out. And if you really need   
it I can probably swipe some expired human blood from the   
morgue..."   
  
Nick shook his head as she prattled on and on. He couldn't.   
He couldn't listen to this. Do you have _any_ idea what   
has just happened here tonight? No! What happened?! I   
don't get it! Just tell me...  
  
"Nat, stop!" he whispered harshly, getting up off the floor   
and immediately bringing her bout of optimism to a halt.   
"Nat, please don't act like everything here is all right.   
Because it's not. You know it. And I know it..." he   
explained slowly as he brought her in front of him, gripping   
her shoulders tightly.  
  
"Nick, please don't say that," she begged him softly, her   
fingers subconsciously tugging at his shirt sleeves, the   
aghast look on her face practically speaking for her. "We   
can fix it, Nick. We'll be okay..."  
  
"Damn it, Nat," he began, slightly annoyed. "It's NOT okay!   
It's not something that we can just fix and pretend like it   
didn't happen! How can you even _begin_ to think that?   
I've somehow managed to forgive, perform the most intimate   
gesture on this Earth with _twice_, and then once again   
estrange the man I've hated for the past eight-hundred-  
years, the man who _violated_ me not even three nights ago,   
and you somehow think that it's going to be okay? Well it's   
NOT OKAY!"  
  
He felt his innards twist when he saw her sadly look to the   
ground, and he immediately regretted his angry tone. The   
last thing on Earth he'd ever wanted was to pull her into   
this conflict... It was his fault that she'd gotten even   
remotely involved in this, and now she'd just become a prime   
player, going so far as to actually almost kill the   
competition. But still he continued. "Or is it the fact   
that for some reason I didn't let you kill my sometimes   
mortal enemy, sometimes friend, most often antagonist of a   
sire? Does THAT make it OKAY?"  
  
That was actually a good question. Why had he stopped her?   
It was too clichéd to assume he'd done it to save her the   
guilt. Granted, he'd never wish the guilt of ending   
someone's life on her, but that wasn't why he'd stopped her,   
he was sure of it somewhere deep down inside.   
  
God, why did this feel so _wrong_? Do you have _any_ idea   
what has just happened here tonight? Damn it all, no, I   
haven't a clue!   
  
"I don't know," Nat whimpered slightly, her earlier   
confidence and adrenaline wrought guts deflating. "I don't   
know! I'm not a goddamn omniscient psychic! But I _do_   
know that you've been hurt, I've been hurt, and that between   
the two of us, we've got a whole slew of hurt..."  
  
She was babbling, obviously very upset. Her head started to   
shake back and forth, denying some unsaid force and he could   
tell she was about to realize... "My God, Nick... I almost   
killed a man today..." Her tone was quiet, and there was a   
tiredness seeping into it that shouldn't have been there.   
He blinked as she rocked back and forth as if she'd been   
tipped by an invisible force, wobbling on the balls of her   
feet like she was going to lose her balance. "I almost..."   
  
"Nat, shhhh," he soothed her, pulling her into a tight   
embrace as she had done so many times for him. "Nat, you   
didn't."  
  
"But I..." she protested, quivering in his grasp, but not   
really crying. She'd always been so strong, which was one   
of the many things that he admired her for. Given   
opposition, she was the type of person to just plow right   
through it, damn the torpedoes!  
  
"But you _didn't_," he assured her softly. "The key word is   
almost. Don't punish yourself for something you didn't   
do..."  
  
"But..." Her voice was much weaker this time, much softer,   
less forceful.  
  
He placed his index finger over her supple lips to quiet   
her, lingering there for a moment, relishing the warmth of   
her mortality and innocence that he found there. "Hey!" he   
exclaimed, gently patting her nose with the same finger.   
"You know, at this rate I might have to call you a   
hypocrite..." he warned playfully, letting a small grin mar   
his face despite the fact that he felt as far from smiling   
as he could possibly get.   
  
She gave him a small forlorn grin in return. "If I had   
known how hard my advice was to follow, I wouldn't have said   
it with such surety..." she whispered with a sigh, finally   
letting herself fall into his embrace completely, relaxing   
into his firm grip.  
  
Nick sighed softly, inhaling the soft scent of her hair as   
she leaned into his chest and her muscles untensed. He even   
felt himself begin to relax until the beast within reared   
its ugly snarling head. Take her, you fool! Take her now   
while she's vulnerable!   
  
NO!  
  
He released her quickly, intending to get away before   
something regrettable happened. "Nat, I'm sorry," he   
whispered ashamedly as he purposefully backed away from her   
curious eyes. "I just can't... be this close to you right   
now."  
  
Nat nodded, understanding flooding her crystalline blue eyes,   
and backed off a few steps. "It's okay, Nick," she assured   
him, but Nick noted, curiously, that unlike all of the   
previous times this had happened, she wasn't making any   
quick moves to leave despite the hints he was dropping.   
  
He began to wonder what exactly she was thinking, but she   
answered his question for him. "But I'm not leaving, not   
now... You need company and I need a ride to work," she   
commented softly with a small grin.  
  
Nick sighed. "All right, Nat. All right. Just let me get   
some of my, um," he grunted, trying to escape mention of   
_it_, but her nonverbal prodding got him to say it, "the,   
um, the emergency rations I keep in my, uh, my uh,   
freezer..." As much as he tried, he just couldn't bring   
himself to say that he would be going for human tonight.   
But both he knew, and she knew, that nothing else would do.   
  
"Go ahead, Nick. I'll join you at the table in a second,   
but I need to make a pit stop really quick," she replied as   
she walked towards the bathroom.  
  
And then he was alone. With a wan curl of his lips, he   
slowly approached the freezer and crouched before the blood   
packets, similar to the ones that had innocently been   
mistaken for pasta sauce. He smiled at the memory as the   
misty cool air of the freezer snaked around his body and   
gripped his pale skin.   
  
He knew why she was doing this. She was trying to get him   
to come to terms with this without her help. Trying to get   
him to realize drinking human was okay under these   
circumstances. That it was donated, no one had died, and   
everything was okay.   
  
But she had misjudged him. That was not at all what he was   
feeling so uncomfortable about. It was the fact that he was   
going to drink human, and despite all his misgivings and   
feelings to the contrary, the fact that he was going to   
enjoy it. Immensely.   
  
Just like he had with LaCroix's rich blood.  
  
Haha. You're hungry and you want it... You know, there's   
an even fresher source right here in this loft. C'mon, you   
know you'd prefer naturally warm as opposed to thawed...   
You should try it out. Take her! It'll be great, you won't   
regret  
  
"Um, Nick? I was under the impression that you had to thaw   
that first," he heard Nat's voice say cautiously from behind   
him. It startled him enough to bring him out of his brief   
tête-à-tête with the beast, enough to realize that he had   
just been sitting there in front of the open freezer with a   
single blood pack cradled in his hands, and that he'd   
probably been doing so for several minutes.  
  
"Yeah, Nat, I was just getting to that," he answered   
hurriedly as he brought himself up from his haunches and   
into a standing position. Anything to get this over with...  
He walked over and tossed the chilled pack into the   
microwave, thawing it briefly before joining Nat at his   
small kitchen table.  
  
Drink, Nicholas...  
  
Hearing LaCroix influence him like this even when he wasn't   
there, was disturbing at best, and he couldn't help but   
wonder why his mind was doing this to him. Why couldn't   
he seem to take control of his life? Was it always in his   
master's hands? Luckily, he caught a growl in his throat   
before he let it out, suddenly remembering that he had   
company.   
  
He watched Nat watching him, feeling slightly disgusted with   
himself when she briefly averted her eyes. She may insist   
that she didn't have problems with this, but she, like him,   
was often too stubborn to admit the truth. His own stomach   
coiled as he let his fangs slip into place. He couldn't do   
this. Not in front of her...  
  
Drink, Nicholas...  
  
God, I want to so badly...  
  
Drink, Nicholas...  
  
He bit into the bag, his fangs tearing through the plastic   
easily. Nat's eyes, which had so subtly looked away before   
were now entranced with him, and he couldn't help but feel   
a small sense of triumph. Maybe she would finally be afraid   
of him like she was supposed to be...   
  
I am a beast. A terrible, horrible beast! But you like   
it... No! Yessssssssss.  
  
Drink, Nicholas...  
  
He took a small sip, crumbling inward as his beast defeated   
him. Another... He growled, feeling it's artificial warmth   
flowing down his throat and settling heavily in his stomach,   
reveling in the sensation. Another...  
  
And he was lost.  
  
She was afraid of needles. That much, he gathered right   
away. Be calm. It's for a good cause, someone will get   
this who really needs it. You don't have to be afraid of   
the needle, Marie. He heard her last thoughts as if they   
were his own.  
  
Ha, like I'm a man who really needs it! Yes, I do need   
it... I _NEED_ it. It's soooooo good...  
  
"Nick?"  
  
He looked up in a golden haze, finally realizing that he was   
just sitting there sucking desperately at an empty bag. Nat   
was glancing at him warily. "Nick, you look awful hungry,   
are you sure that just that one is enough?" she questioned   
him innocently as he fought to force his eyes back to their   
normal blue.  
  
He wanted it. Wanted it so badly that he was trembling, the   
bag in his hands crinkling softly as his fingers subtly   
flexed and unflexed in his terrible battle for control.   
"No, I'm fine," he denied hoarsely as he stood up and wiped   
his mouth on his hand. "Let's go."  
  
Grabbing his coat, he quickly ushered her into the lift,   
barely pausing to check and make sure he was presentable.   
Anything to get them out of there and away from the blood.  
  
Away from the memories...  
  
*****  
  
It was a dark night, so black that the thickness of it   
threatened to strangle the life out of him despite his   
liking for the color. LaCroix huffed softly into the cold   
air as he looked into the starless, cloud carpeted sky.   
It was cold and dark and black and dreary.   
  
Just like he felt.  
  
Just like he looked.  
  
At least he had come to a decision, figured out some things   
about his life that he hadn't really questioned until now.   
But... At what cost?  
  
Sighing, he withdrew his key and entered the Raven, knowing   
that Janette would be there waiting eagerly for him.   
Granted, she could no longer have a good sense of _his_   
pain, she had an acute one of Nicholas's. She had   
demonstrated that already.  
  
"LaCroix..."   
  
She was sitting at the bar, twirling her long index finger   
absently around the edge of her goblet, wrapped in an   
elegant crushed velvet dress the color of the blood she was   
drinking. Curiously, she was not even facing him, but   
somehow, she had known it was him the second he had entered.   
  
Silently, he sat down next to her. "Where are my patrons?"   
he asked curtly as he glanced around at the empty Raven,   
attempting to avoid the unavoidable.   
  
"Where is your son?" Janette asked just as curtly, her   
thinly penciled eyebrows arching upwards in question. She   
spun around on her stool to face him, sweeping her legs   
around and recrossing them with the womanly grace he had   
always admired in her.  
  
LaCroix looked at the floor. "He wishes to have nothing to   
do with me," he admitted sadly. "I wish to have nothing to   
do with me..." he added in shame. It was funny. He   
would've never thought himself capable of all these... these   
_emotions_, but now they were threatening to swallow him   
whole.   
  
"It is understandable. I figured that was how he would   
react," she said with a small nod, her face expressionless   
as she looked from him down to her glass.  
  
But at her words, LaCroix found himself incensed. "What are   
you talking about? You're the one who told me to go to   
him in the first place!" he exclaimed in astonishment. How   
could I have listened to her? How could I have been so   
stupid... I am NOT someone who takes advice, I am one who   
GIVES it!  
  
Her eyes widened slightly, but the change in her face was so   
subtle that anyone who didn't really know her wouldn't have   
caught it. She was... She was intimidated by him. But she   
hid it well.   
  
"I never said that it would be a happy reunion," she replied   
quietly, her soft French accent filtering through as she   
continued. "Nor did I say that it would be all right."  
  
"But..." he began to protest, but she stopped him.   
  
"When I was still mortal, men took advantage of me the same   
as you have done to Nicholas, some even worse, and I have   
never forgiven a single one of them," she stated, the anger   
dripping from her tone like melting ice. "I was a victim   
once too, LaCroix. I know the other side of the fence, but   
I do not think that you are familiar with it. In fact,   
before last night I wasn't even sure if you cared about the   
people you hurt at all."  
  
A burning pain began to build in his gut as she continued.   
God, she was right. Why did she have to be so right? He   
closed his eyes, her words practically melting in the   
rushing thunderous roar that was overwhelming his ears.  
  
"And with Nichola, you have been very unforgiving, very   
domineering, and very insensitive. Nichola is a passionate   
man with dreams and ambitions unlike any other man I have   
ever known, and he suffers from a terrible case of   
impetuousness that I believe can never be cured. Because of   
that impetuousness and that passion, he simply cannot stay   
tethered to you for eternity, no matter how much you may   
want an eternal companion."  
  
The chorus that had been crushing his skull with its   
intensity began to wail in his head again. He found himself   
trembling with its intensity. Guilty, Lucien. You're   
GUILTY! "Janette, please, please stop," he interrupted her,   
shaking his head in denial, but with a look of refusal, she   
continued unabated.  
  
"Yet despite all of that, I know that he loves you, and at   
least now he knows that you are regretful of your actions,   
and _because_ of that very same passion that forces such   
discord between you, I believe he will have the capacity to   
forgive you your sins where I have failed to forgive my   
aggressors of theirs. Just not right away."  
  
And with that, she was silent. Her discourse was done as   
quickly as it had begun.  
  
He blinked back a tear that was threatening to fall. He   
found himself strangely unable to believe what she had said.   
Nicholas didn't love him. Nicholas hated him with such   
furious intensity that it threatened to crush his own jaded   
soul into oblivion then and there. And if it were true, and   
Nicholas did actually harbor some strange and twisted   
affection for him, it was misguided at best. Misguided and   
masochistic and inconceivable.  
  
No. It just wasn't true. He'd wanted to believe her   
yesterday, but he knew now that he was wrong and foolish for   
even thinking there was some hope of reconciliation. And   
he himself was twisted just for wanting it. That forgiveness   
which Nicholas would no doubt refuse to offer for the rest of   
eternity. Twisted because forgiveness would spur the whole   
demented relationship back into action. It was better for   
the both of them if this ended. Now.  
  
"Janette, you didn't see him, he wanted me gone...   
Permanently." I want me gone. I can't forgive me this...   
I can't forgive me, why should Nicholas? Janette understood   
a lot, but still not even half of it... I'm a sick,   
sadistic bastard...  
  
"Not a surprising reaction from someone you just raped," she   
said bluntly, the anger once again filling her voice as her   
words hit him like a slap in the face. "For Christ's sake,   
LaCroix, you can't expect him to bounce back in a day! He's   
always seemed resilient, but he's really not. Not really.   
Inside, he probably feels like some broken toy that you play   
with when it suits you, and that you abuse whenever the whim   
hits you..."  
  
It was almost true. And it hit dangerously close to what   
he'd already thought of. "I want to break the toy..." he   
admitted softly.   
  
Janette looked at him sharply. "What?" she asked harshly.  
  
"You were right, Janette. I didn't care about the other   
side of the fence. I've come to realize that I do these   
things because I want to hurt people, to assume the master   
role, with Nicholas worst of all..."   
  
"LaCroix..."   
  
"No, you were right, Janette. Nicholas may feel like a   
broken toy, but it's only because I want him to feel that   
way. Or at least, I used to..." Not now. I could never   
feel that way now... "And I can't help but think that the   
reason he's stuck around so long is because he likes being   
broken..."  
  
It felt strange, saying that to someone else. Almost a   
relief to come clean with someone and at the same time   
horrifying. It had been different when he had just been   
thinking rather than verbalizing his feelings.  
  
"Surely you can't think that that's the only reason you are   
bound to each other..." Janette hastily replied, the   
disbelief in her voice almost tangible. She was disgusted   
with him. Just as disgusted as he was. She wasn't saying   
anything to that point, but it was obvious to him. The look   
in her eyes was screaming volumes to him.  
  
"I don't know what to think," he mumbled softly. And it was   
true. He really didn't. He'd never been regretful before,   
he simply hadn't allowed it. Suffice it to say, it was   
unfamiliar territory.  
  
Janette didn't respond. They sat in silence.  
  
"I'm leaving," he added, eyes closed to her penetrating   
gaze. "Tonight." To Egypt, perhaps... He needed to wallow   
in bad memories for awhile, pay penance. Exactly as he had   
told Nicholas not to do for centuries on end.  
  
"What?" she exclaimed. "You can't! You can't run away from   
this! He _needs_ you!" she tried to dissuade him, but he   
could not, _would_ not be moved. Nicholas only needed   
peace, a respite from his constant guilt and torment, the   
bulk of which LaCroix himself provided by constantly   
thinking up new lessons in brutality to teach his progeny.  
  
"Nicholas is eight-hundred years old. He does _not_ need   
me. He didn't need me when he was thirty-three either. He   
never has," he responded in monotone. To Egypt. It was   
warm and dry, and the days were almost always the same   
length as the nights. And _she_ was buried there. Another   
screwed up relationship with his offspring on his   
conscience. I am sick. Very sick...  
  
He got up.  
  
"I thought you were a Roman general because you didn't quit.   
Because you were relentless. And now you're running away?"   
she frantically tried to stop him, hopping up from her chair   
as he walked towards the door. He hadn't packed yet, but   
then, he didn't really intend to. Leaving everything behind   
would be the perfect way to sever all ties.  
  
"Janette, I am over two thousand years old. It is far time   
that I retired," he stated bluntly, not once tearing his   
eyes from her beautiful face, hoping that she would see his   
resolve. He needed to get away from Nicholas. That was the   
only way that this disturbed relationship would come to an   
end. True, he could stay here and have Nicholas just avoid   
him as he always had, except with greater tenacity... But   
then... It wouldn't really be over. The dominator and the   
dominated would still be in business. It was sick. And it   
had to end. Now.  
  
He stepped out into the cold night once again, finally   
intent as to where he was going and what he was doing.  
  
"Lucien LaCroix, you are a coward!" she cried from behind   
him, stomping her stiletto heel into the ground so hard it   
snapped and broke off.  
  
He didn't turn to face her, knowing that if he did he would   
buckle as he did last time and go crawling back for   
forgiveness that he didn't deserve despite how much he   
desperately wanted it. But it didn't matter anymore. He   
was putting an end to Nicholas's eternal misery.   
  
Finally.   
  
*****  
  
Nick sighed as he entered the precinct, fairly certain that   
he would get some backlash for disappearing last night   
without word. Glancing around he saw Tracy typing away at   
her desk, no doubt working on the report for the McKenzie   
case that he had abandoned her on. Her eyes were showing   
heavy bags, and if he was not mistaken, those were the very   
same clothes that she had been wearing last night.  
  
He heaved a world-weary breath as he removed his duster,   
running a hand through his hair in a show of apprehension.   
"Tracy," he said simply as he approached, his feet falling   
on the floor, soundless and predatory.  
  
She jumped, practically flying out of her chair in surprise.   
"Nick!" she exclaimed, and despite the obvious caffeine   
running through her veins there was a certain tiredness to   
her. "I didn't think you'd be coming in today, I already   
booked you off."  
  
"Oh," was all Nick could think of to say as he sat down   
heavily in his chair, amazed that he hadn't received some   
sort of verbal lashing. No Captain Reese rushing out to say   
that partners shouldn't just flee the crime scene with no   
word. No nothing.  
  
"I've taken care of everything. The case is a wrap-up. Mr.   
McKenzie did a full, on-the-record confession. I notified   
the girl's parents, got the coroner's reports, typed up all   
the forms... God, pardon me while I fall asleep..." she   
exclaimed with a horrific yawn as she flopped down onto her   
desk.  
  
Nick was astounded. Not one mention of how he'd abandoned   
her, and she had completely finished everything up...   
"But... Why?" he questioned, barely able to find his voice.  
  
Tracy let out a long sigh. "Nick, you may not like me as   
much as you did Detective Schanke, Hell, you may even hate   
me for all I know, but it was obvious to me that you were   
unwell last night. And you're just the type of machismo guy   
to not admit it when you're feeling under the weather. I   
figured you just couldn't handle it. Consider it forgotten,   
I won't ever mention that you got sick at a crime-scene."  
  
The mention of Schanke dredged up some painful memories, but   
he couldn't help but notice how much concern Tracy was   
showing for him. And he also couldn't help but notice how   
uncertain she seemed to feel about his professional feelings   
towards her. An old partner's shoes were always difficult   
ones to fill. Perhaps he'd misjudged her. "I'm sorry," he   
began sincerely. "I... that case just hit a little too   
close to home for me." It wasn't a lie. It also wasn't the   
total truth either. He didn't feel the need to mention that   
the close to home part had only happened a mere days before.  
  
Tracy's eyes widened and he suddenly regretted adding that   
last part. She didn't need to know. She had enough of her   
own problems with her _own_ father. "Too close to... Oh my   
God, Nick..." she whispered as the pieces finally fell   
together. "Oh my God, I'm sorry... I didn't know..." Her   
hands flew to her mouth and she shook her head.  
  
"It's all right, Tracy. No one knows," he said simply,   
still not believing that he'd opened up to her, even that   
little bit of cryptic interchange. And all at once he began   
to get a little uncomfortable. "Listen, uh, Tracy, Mr.   
McKenzie is being held in lockup, right? I'd like to speak   
with him."  
  
Tracy nodded mutely, her face pale with shock, but he didn't   
have the strength to comfort her now. She was a strong   
woman, she would deal with it quickly enough. And he didn't   
need another pair of sympathetic eyes looking at him with   
horror.  
  
He got up quickly, leaving her behind him sitting silently   
at her desk, and walked down to the lockup. It was dark, as   
usual, with a lone heavyset guard sitting in a chair at the   
end of the walkway. There was only one prisoner there at   
the time. McKenzie.  
  
"Detective Knight!" the guard cried out cheerfully. "What   
can I do you for?" he said, his rosy cheeks almost smiling   
for him as he stood.  
  
"As soon as you give me the keys, you can leave," Nick   
stated bluntly, impressing his will upon the gregarious   
guard, feeling his heartbeat thump in his ears until it   
almost felt like his own. Thump thump, thump thump, thump   
thump...  
  
"I... can..." the man said slowly, beginning to repeat   
Nick's words as if they were his own, as if in a trace. He   
then shook his head. "Right, well, I'll just go grab a cup   
of coffee. See you later," he said with a dazed look of   
utter confusion on his face, and he shook his head several   
times as he handed over his keys and slowly walked out.  
  
Nick turned. McKenzie was looking at him. "How did you do   
that?" he asked in amazement, his eyes wide. And yet, he   
wasn't frightened. Nick could sense no fear in him   
whatsoever, his mortal heartbeat remained steady and   
unfailing, his breathing even and relaxed.  
  
Nick shrugged as he let himself inside the cell that housed   
McKenzie and sat down next to the man, hoping feigned   
ignorance was the best tactic. "I just... I wanted to talk   
to you," he stated simply.  
  
McKenzie shrugged in a similar gesture to what Nick had just   
performed. "Why? I'm guilty. Case closed, I thought..."   
he said absently, his voice housing a small hint of sadness   
as he ran his hands through his rich brown hair.  
  
Nick sighed. "This isn't about the case, I just... I   
wanted to know why?" he asked hesitantly.  
  
"Because I wanted to hurt her."   
  
Nick stared at the man in disbelief, shocked that he was so   
open. McKenzie took a deep breath and continued. "Elise   
was my life, she was _everything_ to me. I did everything   
I possibly could to let her know that she was the most   
important thing in the world to me," he stated softly,   
taking a deep breath as if attempting to cleanse his lungs.  
  
"And then she left me, said I was smothering her..."  
  
Nick felt his stomach twist in disgust. Here was a man who   
claimed to be regretful and it almost sounded like he was   
going to blame it all on...  
  
"Don't get me wrong, I don't blame her. I've come to   
realize that I _was_ smothering her. But... when she did   
that... I was just. so. angry!" McKenzie exclaimed with a   
sob.   
  
Nick closed his eyes. Play it cool, Nick. Don't you dare   
get too involved... You just wanted a straight up answer,   
don't judge yet.  
  
McKenzie turned to Nick. "Have you ever been so angry and   
so in love that you couldn't think straight? That you just   
_HAD_ to get what you wanted?" he asked, his voice   
penetrating through Nick's outer shell of cold indifference.  
  
Nick's eyes widened in surprise. This man had hit him right   
on the mark. "Yeah, yeah I can relate to that..." he   
whispered softly as he looked downwards at the floor in   
shame, unable to stop himself from thinking about all the   
times his terrible temper had gotten him into a busload of   
trouble. They didn't call him 'The Knightmare' for nothing.   
  
McKenzie nodded eagerly at him in response. "You lose   
control a lot too?" he asked curiously, his voice wavering.  
It was as if McKenzie had actually wondered if he was alone   
in that respect, and wanted to know if someone out there was   
like him.  
  
Please, Nicholas! I'm... sorry. For everything. Please,   
believe me. Drink my blood. Heal. Know what I cannot say   
with words!  
  
Nick blinked against the blinding pain of the memory, it   
felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. Hard. "God,   
yes... Sometimes I feel..."  
  
"Like you want to hurt everyone around you and damn the   
consequences," McKenzie finished for him.  
  
"Don't you run away from me, boy!" LaCroix cried, a sudden   
hard edge to his voice, but he immediately softened.   
"I'm... I'm sorry... I didn't mean..."  
  
Nick cringed at the memory. He'd been too wrapped up in   
himself to notice the sincerity in his sire's voice...  
"And then you do and you feel terrible afterwards," Nick   
continued the sentence with a heavy sigh. He knew that   
guilt well, it was quite a good friend of his.  
  
McKenzie nodded. "Yes. Yes, precisely. You do   
understand... You're not all that different from me..."   
he stated in amazement, obviously startled that he found   
someone who could so easily relate to him.  
  
Do you have _any_ idea what has just happened here   
tonight?   
  
Yes. Yes, I believe I do.   
  
Nick cringed yet again. LaCroix had come to him looking for   
genuine forgiveness. He cared. He really cared. And Nick   
had shut him out, sent him away, thinking it was all some   
ploy to keep him in the fold. God, what had he done?   
  
Good-bye, Nicholas...  
  
LaCroix had sounded so strange when he'd said goodbye, but   
at the time it hadn't made sense. LaCroix... _LACROIX_ had   
apologized _TO HIM_.   
  
Please, Nicholas! I'm... sorry. For everything. Please,   
believe me. Drink my blood. Heal. Know what I cannot say   
with words!  
  
He'd apologized to him for the very first time in his life   
and Nick had shot him down like there was no tomorrow. It   
made sense that he would've been a little distraught over   
that. A _little_ distraught? Try delusional...  
  
Good-bye, Nicholas...  
  
It had been rather final... Like he wasn't intending to   
ever return. Like it really, honestly, truly, was not an   
attempt at trickery. Like it really, honestly, truly, was   
really, honestly, true.  
  
What, are you crazy? Of COURSE it was a damn ploy. And   
the sincerity was fake too. It always has been before.   
Don't let what this man said sway you, even if you can   
relate to it so much you think it's a goddamn relative.   
Don't! That's what makes you weak, you fool! You INVITE   
these instances of pain because you always go crawling back   
to him. Back to HIM. Don't fall for it AGAIN!  
  
No. No, not this time, I think it was real.   
  
It had to have been...   
  
But is it because you want it to be real or because it   
truly was real? Why is it that you always find some way to   
go crawling back to him on your hands and knees like a   
goddamn beggar? Why? Do you need his approval so badly   
that you're willing to undergo that violation again? Do you   
NEED the pain that he gives you? WHY, DAMMIT?!  
  
Because...  
  
Because WHY?!  
  
It was real...  
  
I don't care if it was real. TELL ME WHY, YOU WEAK,   
COWERING FOOL!  
  
Because...  
  
WHY?!  
  
Do you have _any_ idea what has just happened here   
tonight?   
  
Yes. Yes, I believe I do.   
  
Because, I love him. Despite all of the things he's done to   
me, I care for him as if he were my own father...  
  
"Um, Detective Knight? Are you all right?"  
  
Nick shook his head, somewhat disoriented. He'd forgotten   
that he'd been sitting in the jail cell along with Mr.   
McKenzie all this time. "Yes, yes, I'm fine. Thanks for   
talking with me, I needed that..." he replied hurriedly.   
McKenzie nodded quietly as Nick got up and let himself out   
of the cell.  
  
But the minute he left the lock up, he knew something was   
wrong. _She_ was there. Waiting for him at his desk in her   
usual black leather, Tracy staring at her strangely.   
"Janette, what are you doing here?" he asked quietly as he   
approached, not heeding Tracy's questioning eyes.  
  
"He is leaving. Tonight," Janette replied softly, hopping   
deftly off of his desk and onto her leather booted feet as   
he came up to her.  
  
It hit him like a slap in the face. "Why?" he asked, but he   
knew why. He didn't need to hear it from Janette to know it   
was true.  
  
"He thinks that you hate him."  
  
Nick nodded. It was understandable. LaCroix had every   
reason to think so. And the fact that those feelings had   
been allowed to fester probably didn't help.  
  
"Do you?" Janette asked softly, her eyebrows raised in   
perfect arcs.  
  
"No, Janette. I don't," he said as he grabbed his coat from   
the back of his chair. He had to find him, to tell him the   
truth. That even if he wasn't totally forgiven yet, he   
certainly wasn't hated... "Where did he go?"  
  
"I don't know. I cannot sense him anymore, and he didn't   
tell me. You will have to use your link..."  
  
Nick nodded, still ignoring Tracy's silent questioning, and   
left quickly. The minute he was out the door he was into   
the cold night air, utilizing one of the few lessons LaCroix   
had ever taught him.  
  
*****   
  
"Flight 424, direct to Heathrow is in the final boarding   
stages. All stand-by passengers please approach the   
gate..."  
  
LaCroix sighed as the overly cheerful announcer came on the   
comm. God, what he wouldn't give for the past, when people   
were friendly because they simply were, and not because the   
phrase 'Have a nice day' had been minted into their   
paycheck... He shuddered and stood, noting sadly that he was   
the only person left in the terminal.  
  
Stand-by. That was him. He gathered the few of his   
belongings that he had with him and made his way towards the   
gate, bundling his heavy black coat around him in an attempt   
to warm the coldness that was seeping through his bones.   
But he knew it wouldn't work.   
  
"LaCroix, wait!" The voice was frantic, desperate even. It   
took him less than a second to realize that it was   
Nicholas...   
  
LaCroix whirled around on the balls of his feet as he heard   
his name being called. Nicholas was running down the wide   
expanse of hallways, barreling through what few people there   
were milling about in an effort to reach him before he   
departed.  
  
He watched silently as his child came to a stop in front of   
him, narrowing his eyes as he waited for Nicholas to compose   
himself. "Don't leave, LaCroix..."  
  
It was funny. The request was simple enough, and yet as   
much as his heart leapt at hearing those words, he knew in   
his mind that it simply wouldn't work. He would have to   
leave. "Nicholas, you've already asked that of me once this   
week, and look where it has taken us..."  
  
Nicholas took a deep, unnecessary breath. "Look, LaCroix, I   
know what I said before... I was wrong. Don't leave. I   
mean it this time," he said seriously, his eyes unwavering,   
containing none of the cold expressionlessness that they had   
shown him before.  
  
He laughed bitterly, a small hopeless sound even to his own   
ears. And it surprised him. How had he grown to be so   
cynical in such a short time? "No you don't, Nicholas. You   
know that you don't..." he said softly, turning towards the   
boarding gate once again.  
  
"This is the last call for Flight 424..."   
  
He attempted to take a step towards the gate, but Nicholas   
grabbed his shoulder and roughly spun him back around.   
"LaCroix, what the Hell do you want me to do, beg?" His   
son was annoyed now, that he could tell.  
  
No. No, I don't want you to beg. I want you to let me go.   
Just like I have finally done for you. That is what you've   
always wanted, isn't it? ISN'T IT? That was what LaCroix   
thought, but he failed to say it for some reason. He   
couldn't.   
  
Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, surprised at how   
overwhelming this all was. He could acutely smell   
Nicholas's aftershave, silently taunting him with its   
familiarity. "Nicholas, please, I need to go..." he   
requested softly, gently removing Nicholas's hands from his   
own, broad shoulders.  
  
"Well I don't want you to!" Nicholas cried harshly, and   
LaCroix could easily detect the pain underlying his tone.   
Pain that _he_ was causing.   
  
"Nicholas, I _cannot_ stay!" he replied just as forcefully.   
Why did this have to be so hard? Why did Nicholas have to   
make it even harder? It was obvious to him what had to be   
done, why couldn't Nicholas see that?  
  
He turned again to leave. He would not address this again.  
He had to go. Now. But I want to stay! Well you're not   
going to. But he's asking me to stay... Too bad. It's too   
late. Leave.  
  
"NO!"  
  
LaCroix sputtered in shock as he found himself on the   
ground, flung there mercilessly by what was supposed to be   
his obedient protégé... "I am NOT letting you leave!"   
Nicholas cried as he slammed his clenched fist into   
LaCroix's cheek.  
  
He was shocked. The slow trickle of blood down his cheek   
was like a reality check and he was on his feet defending   
himself immediately. "Nicholas, you will NOT tell me what   
to do!" he cried, shoving his son backwards and punching   
him in the stomach with a swift crack, the heavy rings on   
his fingers leaving what was sure to be some very ugly,   
bruised dents in what was normally flawless pale skin.   
  
"Security!"   
  
LaCroix barely heard what was going on around him,   
completely ignoring the lone individual who went running   
past to get help. Nicholas went down gasping for breath,   
but was only deterred for a moment. With a heaving grunt,   
his son was up on his feet, ramming into him like a rutting   
bull.   
  
Pain ripped through his back as he was flung backwards into   
the terminal benches, but he paid it no mind as he swung his   
foot out and stopped Nicholas's charge with a boot to the   
gut. But as Nicholas rolled backwards to avoid the blow,   
his fingers grabbed the lapels of LaCroix coat and flipped   
him over top of him.  
  
There was little LaCroix could do to regain his balance, and   
suddenly Nicholas was on top of him, pummeling his stomach   
and his chest and his face and any other exposed part he   
could get his hands on. "Did you think I hated you? Did   
you think that you could just leave me behind to rot in your   
wake!? Well I won't have it, you're going to _STAY_!"   
Nicholas cried.  
  
LaCroix could only moan, the blood flowing freely from a   
gash above his eye was practically blinding him. A   
uniformed officer was pulling frantically at Nicholas,   
trying to pry him away, but he wasn't budging. "I want you   
to stay, damn it!" His syllables were each accentuated with   
a hard blow to the face.  
  
LaCroix choked back on the blood that was oozing from his   
busted lip. "Nich... Nicholas..." he grunted, in pain. He   
couldn't fight back, Nicholas had him completely pinned, had   
him completely at his mercy. And for some reason... a part   
of him was smiling. Well done, Nicholas...  
  
"I want you to stay, I want you to stay!" It was like a   
mantra now, a lost child crying steadily that he wasn't   
afraid of the dark, but only because he was...  
  
"Sir, please, break it up!" the officer was threatening,   
still attempting to pull Nicholas off of him without hurting   
anyone.   
  
Nicholas's fist rammed into his jaw like it was a cold   
steak, a piece of meat that was there for the sole purpose   
of him beating the crap out of it. "I want you to stay!"   
CRACK! "I WANT you to STAY!" CRACK! "I WANT YOU TO   
STAY!" CRACK!  
  
"DAMN YOU!"  
  
CRACK!  
  
"DAMN YOU FOR MAKING ME WANT YOU TO STAY!"   
  
The anger was pouring out of Nicholas strong and hard now,   
like a bursting hose, so much that he was shaking more than   
he was hitting now. Despite the pain, despite it all,   
LaCroix smiled. Nicholas was finally getting his catharsis.  
  
Good for you, Nicholas. Good for you...  
  
And then, all at once, Nicholas's weight was thrown off of   
him with a heavy thud. His son let out a small cry as the   
security guard's night stick impacted with his ribs with a   
horribly loud whack, and he tried to get to his feet.   
Wrong move.   
  
LaCroix watched from the floor with a lethargic sense of   
peace as the officer misinterpreted the move as an attempt   
at aggression. Nicholas heavily fell to the floor as the   
night stick again impacted with him, this time in the small   
of his back. The officer stuck a knee heavily where he had   
just struck, restraining Nicholas while he roughly applied   
handcuffs to him.  
  
"Sir, sir are you all right?"   
  
There was another guard there suddenly, asking him with a   
concerned voice if he was okay. LaCroix nodded as he swayed   
to his feet and Nicholas was roughly pulled to his. "I am   
arresting you for assault and resisting arrest. It is my   
duty to inform you that you have the right..."  
  
Nicholas growled, spitting the blood that had welled in his   
mouth to the tiled floor in disgust. "Shut up, I know my   
rights, I'm a police officer with the 96th Division of   
greater Toronto," he spat nastily, barely in control of his   
temper, but when he turned to LaCroix his face softened.   
"If you leave, I'll hunt you down and kill you..." he said   
harshly, quite contradictory to his expression. But as the   
officer wrenched him away, LaCroix could detect a hint of a   
smile, and he couldn't help but feel proud.   
  
Good for you, Nicholas. Good for you...   
  
"Sir, if you'll come with me, we'll escort you to the local   
police station..." the second officer said as he handed him   
a handkerchief to wipe away some of the blood spilling from   
his face. "Do you have any idea how this got started?"   
  
LaCroix nodded.   
  
He knew, although he knew the police could be spared the   
sordid details of the whole ordeal. Which, sadly, was most   
of them.   
  
"Will you be pressing charges, sir?"  
  
"No, no I don't think so," LaCroix said as he tended to his   
broken face, watching quietly as Nicholas was taken away,   
swearing with more words than he thought possibly defined in   
the English language. He couldn't help but smile at that.   
Nicholas had certainly gotten riled up about this.  
  
And he had every right.  
  
Good for you, Nicholas...  
  
*****  
  
"I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS! COULD SOMEONE PLEASE EXPLAIN TO ME   
WHAT THE HELL MY BEST DETECTIVE IS DOING IN LOCKUP FOR   
ASSAULT AND RESISTING ARREST, OF ALL THINGS? SOMEONE GET ME   
A )#$^& ADVIL! SONOFABITCH THIS WATER COOLER STILL DOESN'T   
WORK, OH WILL SOMEONE PLEASE FIND ME A PAIN RELIEVER..."   
  
Nick cringed as he heard Captain Reese's voice ripping   
through the air like a saw blade, surprised that it had even   
carried this far, all the way down into lockup from   
somewhere out in the bullpen. He could just picture the   
blood vessel popping out of his Captain's forehead, dancing   
on his temples like some exotically writhing snake.   
  
Groaning, he placed his head in his hands. Somehow, LaCroix   
had 'convinced' the police officers who had apprehended him   
to truck him to his own precinct rather than the local one   
in Missagua. And to be honest, he couldn't figure out if   
that was for punishment or relief. Punishment probably...   
Granted, the normal assumption would be that he would get   
more lenient treatment here since they knew him, but upon   
listening to Reese yell, he was beginning to sorely doubt   
that...  
  
Nick closed his eyes, unable to stop the dread that was   
overcoming him.   
  
He couldn't believe he'd done what he'd done. Going with   
the intent of bringing LaCroix back with him for a serious   
talk and then ending up jumping him and beating him to a   
bloody pulp had not been on his list of things to do... It   
was odd, though. He felt better than he had in days. Like   
all the anger and hurt he'd been housing for the last eight   
centuries had been lifted from his shoulders.  
  
"A-HEM!"   
  
Nick looked upwards, and there standing outside his cell   
with the key dangling from his chubby fingers, was Reese,   
glaring silently. If there was ever a time when Nick knew   
he was in for it, now was it... He didn't think he'd ever   
live this one down. Reese was going to kill him...   
  
Granted, he'd been in trouble with the law before, a   
fugitive even, but that hadn't been the same... Well okay,   
it was kind of the same, but this felt a whole lot   
different... At least Cohen hadn't yelled at him, and most   
of the precinct figured he was innocent from the start. Now   
he was definitely, totally, one-hundred percent guilty. And   
Reese knew it...  
  
"Uh, hi Cap," he said hopefully, a slight, and very fake   
grin plastered across his face. Oh please, oh please don't   
give me a reprimand... Don't suspend me...   
  
"Do you perhaps feel like telling me what the Hell   
happened, that made you feel like suddenly attacking an   
innocent man, and then IGNORING the police officer who tried   
to pry you off him to the point where you had to be beaten   
to the floor?" Reese asked with a snort.  
  
Nick looked down at the floor. No. Not really. Besides,   
it's not like he could say, "Yeah sorry, familial   
conflict, it's been going on for centuries, no biggie..."   
  
Reese grunted, his temper barely in check. "I didn't think   
so. Do you even feel like giving me one good reason why I   
shouldn't suspend you for the rest of your life?"  
  
"Captain, I..." Nick started, but Reese interrupted him   
before he could even begin rattling off meaningless excuses   
and pleas.  
  
"Nick, you're damn lucky this man has not pressed charges.   
You're free to go, but if you ever do something like this   
again I'm going to nail your ass in traffic for the rest of   
your natural life," Reese said coldly as he unlocked to door   
to his cell.  
  
"Thanks," Nick said sheepishly as he pushed past him,   
infinitely relieved that he didn't face any formal   
reprimands or charges.  
  
"And Nick?"  
  
Nick turned back towards his very displeased Captain. "If   
you ever cuss out a fellow police officer again I'm going to   
have you hung out to dry, I don't care if you're the best   
damned detective I've ever seen, I will demote you to   
building maintenance! As it is now, I recommend that you   
take tomorrow off," Reese exclaimed sternly.  
  
Nick nodded and departed quickly, wisely fleeing his wrath.  
He'd gotten off pretty damn lucky, and he knew it. Even the   
notorious 'Knightmare' was not immune to suspensions...   
  
The minute he was in the bullpen, it was dead quiet. Every   
one was staring at him. It felt rather disconcerting, and   
he was sure that he would've blushed if he were capable.  
  
"Nick, my God, I heard what happened and I came straight   
here..." Natalie came running towards him, grabbing him into   
a tight embrace which he couldn't have refused even if he'd   
tried. He couldn't remember the last time she'd shown such   
incredible desperation and worry for him, and certainly   
never enough to do this in the very center of the whole   
precinct with such a large audience...  
  
"Are you all right, he didn't hurt you did he?" she mumbled   
softly into his neck, ignoring the whispering coworkers, the   
money changing hands, everything except for him. She was   
gripping him tightly, and although she was trying to be   
subtle about it, he could tell she was checking him for   
injuries. Her fingers were running skillfully underneath   
his coat, pressing here and there feeling for broken bones   
and whatnot, but she hid it well under the guise of a   
slightly gropey embrace.   
  
It was immediately obvious she'd gotten the wrong idea about   
this whole thing, but he couldn't blame her for jumping to   
conclusions. She'd probably only heard that Nick had gotten   
into a brawl with 'that radio guy'. Not that Nick himself   
had actually started it, an act about which Nick was still   
shaking his head upon, still wondering what on Earth had   
ever possessed him to take on LaCroix in a fight   
_willingly_. If it had been anywhere else, LaCroix probably   
would've clocked him good, but under mortal surveillance   
he'd been limited to mortal speed.   
  
"Don't worry, Nat. I'm fine. In fact, I'm more than   
fine, I'm the one who started..." his words trailed off when   
he saw who was at his desk, looking terribly out of place   
and yet he was there all the same. LaCroix was there,   
standing humbly by Nick's desk, fiddling haphazardly with a   
stapler while he was waiting.  
  
He was watching them, and despite his attempts to hide it,   
Nick detected just a small flicker of... something flash   
across his master's face. Nick didn't want to risk that   
something being anger... He'd already paid dearly enough   
for his master's temper over the whole Fleur issue, he   
didn't want to pay again, and he _especially_ didn't want   
Nat to pay.   
  
"Nat..." he whispered hoarsely and pushed her away from   
him, eliciting a new flurry of hushed whispers rushing   
through the crowd like quiet thunder and a small whimper   
from her. It angered him that he couldn't explain to her   
what was going on, but after last Valentine's Day and what   
happened because of it just recently... Oh, it made him   
shudder just thinking about it.  
  
"Nick?" she looked up at him, her large blue eyes filled   
with hurt, not knowing why he'd released her. "Why?..."   
she asked, until she looked at where Nick was staring. He   
was staring at _HIM_.   
  
Grabbing the lapels of Nick's duster, she pulled him back   
towards her. "No, Nick. Don't you go to him, you stay away   
from him..." she started commanding him, whispering harshly   
in his ear, the anger very apparent in her voice, but for   
some reason he simply couldn't tear his eyes away from his   
master.   
  
LaCroix had waited for him. He'd really waited...  
  
His master looked up at him. "Nicholas," he said softly,   
looking down towards the floor as he said it. His tone was   
neutral, but his expression was far from.  
  
Natalie yanked on him again, trying to drag him forcefully   
out of the precinct, but he continued to stare, still unable   
to get over the amazement that LaCroix was still there.   
"Don't do it, don't you do it, Nick..." she was whispering   
frantically, genuine fear for him in her eyes. She knew   
what he was planning on doing, she just didn't know why yet.   
  
"Shh, Nat," he whispered, turning and giving her a quick   
platonic kiss on the cheek, not daring anything else in   
front of LaCroix. "It's all right, it's all right, I'll   
explain later," he assured her calmly. When she saw that he   
was serious, she relaxed somewhat, and although she didn't   
look very happy about the situation, she released his coat.   
  
He smiled slightly and turned away from her shocked   
expression, towards his desk. "LaCroix," he answered just   
as softly, trying to gauge his master's state of mind. Was   
he angry? Upset? He didn't look it, but Nick doubted he'd   
get off with LaCroix as lightly as he'd gotten off with   
Reese.  
  
"We need to talk."   
  
"Yes, we do."  
  
And surprisingly, LaCroix grabbed him in a tight embrace   
and silently, yet regally, led him out the door, past   
everyone's curious and penetrating stares, past Natalie, and   
into the night.  
  
*****  
  
"It's better now... I'm not as hungry as I was before,"   
Nick exclaimed softly as he stared down at his goblet of   
blood wine. He looked back up at LaCroix, but his master   
only nodded slightly in response, otherwise providing no   
reaction.  
  
The silence was deafening as LaCroix and Nick stared each   
other down, Nick sitting opposite LaCroix across the coffee   
table in the center of his very dreary loft. It was funny,   
but now that they were there, ready to finally set some   
stuff out on the table for them to work with, neither knew   
what to say.  
  
LaCroix chuckled nervously. "You know, Nicholas, generally   
the concept of talking implies that the parties involved   
verbalize their feelings..."  
  
Nick tentatively smiled back, but said nothing. There was   
nothing he could think of to say. Nothing at all. The   
seconds ticked by into an hour and they just sat there.   
Staring. In fact, Nick couldn't remember the last time he'd   
been in his sire's presence without some violent act   
occurring between them. It was kind of... refreshing.  
  
And then all at once the dam opened for both of them.  
  
"Nicholas... I..."  
  
"LaCroix are you _REALLY_ sorry?"  
  
They both began at the same time, both stopping together   
when they realized the other was speaking. "You first,"   
Nick offered softly. He'd already said a lot today, albeit   
while he was pummeling LaCroix into the ground, but he'd   
said it nonetheless.  
  
"Nicholas, there is something that I need to know," LaCroix   
began hesitantly after several false starts, his mouth   
opening and closing but with no sound emanating from his   
lips. "I need... I..." he tried and tried to get it out   
but it just wasn't coming, and Nick sat astonished. He'd   
never, EVER seen LaCroix at such a loss for words.  
  
"I need to know if you stay with me because you like being   
hurt..." LaCroix finally managed to utter, obviously fearful   
of what the response was going to be.   
  
Nick sighed. He'd asked himself that numerous times, during   
many long debates with himself and his inner beast. 'Well,   
do you?' his mind seemed to be asking him. And to be   
honest, "LaCroix, I honestly don't know. I've tried to   
answer that question myself. I do seem to have a passion   
for pain, don't I?" he asked softly, looking down at his   
hands, the floor, anywhere but LaCroix.  
  
LaCroix nodded and said nothing in response.  
  
Nick took a deep breath. "But, LaCroix, even if that is one   
of the reasons I stick around it's a very small reason.   
I've come to realize over the last day or two, that I love   
you like my own father, even despite the fact that a lot of   
times you make me so angry I want to throttle you into the   
next century," he said with a bitter laugh. It sounded like   
something out of a bad talk show. A demented relationship   
at best.   
  
But then he saw how hopefully LaCroix was looking at him.   
At how shocked his sire was by his admission. He took a   
deep breath and continued before he lost his nerve. "Look,   
LaCroix, I'm not ready to forgive you for what happened, but   
I am ready to start trying, if you're really sorry. Are you   
really sorry, LaCroix? Or was it all another plot?"  
  
There. He'd asked. Under civilized circumstances, when   
neither one of them was at the other's throat. It was his   
best chance at getting an honest answer, even if it was an   
answer he didn't want to hear. He closed his eyes, mentally   
steeling himself for what his master was about to say.   
Strange, how one answer had the power to change his life   
completely, either by making one of the world's longest,   
most strange relationships just a tad more sane, or by   
ripping it to pieces in the blink of an eye.  
  
"Nicholas, I have never been more sorry in my life. In   
fact, I don't think I've ever been sorry at all until   
now..." LaCroix answered quietly, a catch in his voice at   
the utterance of his son's name.  
  
Nick sighed in relief. He had been right. LaCroix was   
sorry. But... Something still wasn't letting him accept   
the peace offering for what it was. It was just... "Prove   
it," he found himself stating bluntly, as if his mouth had a   
mind of its own.  
  
LaCroix closed his eyes briefly, and Nick was practically   
thrown backwards in shock as the waves of mental energy hit   
him like a physical slap. LaCroix had opened the link   
between them completely, something he'd never done before.   
Emotions that were LaCroix's flooded Nick's mind, almost as   
if they were his own, and Nick was sure vice versa was also   
true. He gasped.  
  
*Now close it,* LaCroix stated simply. Except he hadn't   
said it, per se. He'd thought it.   
  
Nick was overwhelmed. The intensity, it was... it was too   
much. His balance wavered, and his torso rocked about like   
a punching bag as he managed to whisper, "I can't... you   
never taught me how."  
  
*I'm teaching you now. Close it.*  
  
Nick panted, not able to control the onslaught. It wasn't   
painful, really, just... imposing, suffocating. Probably   
like how someone who was claustrophobic felt in an elevator   
full of people. "I... I don't know... how," he said   
between forceful, heaving gasps, collapsing on the couch   
underneath the nonexistent and yet insurmountable pressure.  
  
*Think of it like a door. Just reach for the handle, and   
close it. It's not as hard as you're making it, Nicholas,   
although it will take practice...*  
  
Nick tried to focus, he really did... Bloody sweat was   
pouring down his brow from the effort of thinking under the   
onslaught.  
  
*I'm not going to close it for you, Nicholas. You need to   
do it yourself...*  
  
He fell onto the floor. Think of it like a door. Okay.   
I've got the damn door, check. It's right there... Close!  
CLOSE, YOU STUPID PIECE OF WOOD!  
  
He cried out, this time in genuine pain, convulsing on the   
floor, writhing as the link threatened to snake around and   
strangle him. Oh please, close... Closeclosecloseclose...   
  
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!  
  
The voices were overwhelming him as LaCroix's memories   
threatened to superimpose on top of his own.   
  
*Nicholas, it doesn't have to be painful, you can control   
the flow... Like a faucet, just change the volume of   
material you're receiving. You will learn in time. Now   
close it!*  
  
"I'm TRYING to bloody close it!" he screamed through gritted   
teeth as he writhed on the floor like a landed fish. It   
felt like claws were ripping apart his flesh and tearing it   
to shreds, only to let it heal again and start all over.  
  
Door. Nick, think of a door. Please, close... Damn, but   
he was shoving really hard on that virtual door, grunting   
with the physical and yet nonphysical effort it took and it   
just wasn't budging. Closecloseclosecloseclosecloseclose  
closeclosecloseclosecloseclosecloseclosecloseclosecloseclose  
closeclosecloseclosecloseclosecloseclosecloseclosecloseclose  
closeclosecloseclosecloseclosecloseclosecloseclosecloseclose  
CLOSE!  
  
And all of the sudden the link was silent. Nothing was   
coming through, and he lay there panting on the floor,   
feeling like he'd just done the Tour de France on a tricycle.  
"Okay, I'm convinced," he whispered hoarsely from the floor,   
trying to find the strength to get up but unable to even   
lift a hand let alone his entire body.  
  
"We will continue this lesson tomorrow after you've rested,"   
LaCroix stated simply, getting up from his chair and peering   
over Nicholas's prone form with some visible concern.  
  
"Wonderful," Nicholas commented sarcastically as sweat from   
his brow dripped into his eyes. Every muscle in his body   
was refusing to listen to his brain's stern commands. He   
couldn't move. Hell, he could barely think. "Just warn me   
next time you're going to open the flood gates or I just   
might drown next time..." he groaned as a splitting headache   
started to develop, his words only partially kidding.  
  
And suddenly, he was up in the air, being held in LaCroix's   
strong arms. "Indeed," his sire responded in a whisper,   
caressing Nick's brow softly with a free hand as he carried   
him upstairs to bed.  
  
Nick accepted LaCroix's aid gratefully, and was very soon   
sinking into the mattress like it was quicksand. "Thanks,"   
he whispered as LaCroix drew the black silk sheet over top   
of him.   
  
LaCroix smiled in response, but said nothing, silently   
turning to leave Nick to sleep in peace. But at the last   
moment, his hands gripping the door frame firmly, he turned   
back as an afterthought struck him. "Nicholas?"  
  
"Yeah?" Nick asked sleepily, not bothering to open his eyes.  
  
"You are free from your debt. Pursue Dr. Lambert as you   
wish," he said softly, and then he was gone in the blink of   
an eye and a small gust of air.   
  
Nick smiled.  
  
"I think I just may do that..." he whispered, to no one in   
particular.   
  
FINIS  
  



End file.
